


you always smile (but in your eyes your sorrow shows)

by MsCFH



Series: Winter Writing Prompts [5]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, and there was only one bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:55:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28260510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsCFH/pseuds/MsCFH
Summary: Margaery and Sansa broke up six months ago.A blizzard and coincidence end them both up in the same hotel in the middle of nowhere.Add a glitch in the hotel's booking system and quickly things become even more complicated.
Relationships: Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell
Series: Winter Writing Prompts [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1637428
Comments: 61
Kudos: 168





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt fill for the winter writing prompts that is not only late, but also got slightly out of hand and decisively off-topic.  
> I hope you enjoy anyway :)
> 
> Title from Mariah Careys "Without You".
> 
> A major thank you to the wonderful Rumpabumbum for beta-reading this for me.

The taxi slowly made its way through the heavy snowfall. Thick snowflakes reflected in the headlights and wipers worked at their maximum to get a grip of them. Along the road barren trees with snow-clad crowns came in and out of view. 

Margaery stared out the window, the darkness letting her only see her own reflection. There had not been a single light post ever since they had left main street and the lack of it had a strangely soothing effect on her mood. 

In contrast, the dull yellow lights that they approached on the end of the road were almost unpleasant, but they also presaged the end of her travels for tonight. The prospect of a warm room and a comfortable bed rejoiced her spirits and let her straighten her posture. 

She peered outside the window as the driver pulled to a stop in a dark parking lot and a shiver that ran through her as she inspected the sparsely illuminated building. For once not because of the freezing temperature outside.

The neon sign signifying that this was in fact a hotel flickered like it was seconds away from giving out, but still provided just enough light for Margaery to notice the worn-down exterior, the clutter that was piled up left of the entrance door and a shabby set of patio furniture on its right. 

It was the perfect cliché of a dingy hotel; one straight out of a horror movie. Not the cosy place that she had hoped for to sit out this brisk and stormy night.

Everything in her resisted surrendering the warmth and the security of the taxi. “This is it?”

The driver, a middle-aged man with a tummy so enormous he had trouble steering the wheel, showed her a warm smile. “Told ya there were not exactly a lot of places open out of season. I know it’s not exactly the Ritz.”

No. This was not even an airport Holiday Inn.

But when you found yourself stranded in the midst of nowhere, you could not be picky. After four hours lost in a drifty train station that had presented little more shelter than a bus stop, solely to learn that all lines back to London had been cancelled due to the massive snowfall, she was not exactly keen to go back there.

She used the time the driver took to count her change to shoot her brother a brief text, letting him know it would be entirely his fault if she got murdered here tonight, and that she hoped the aesthetics of the perfect winter wedding were worth it to lose his sister over.

His answer that she would have been safe and sound had she only stayed back in the hotel in Penzance like the rest of the wedding party, reached her as she stood at the front porch of her horror movie accommodation, the taxi’s light fading away behind her.

Margaery scoffed. He knew precisely why she had not stayed.

It had been hard enough to see her again at all. Even at a distance. Even when not talking to her beyond the awkward greeting.

She recognized that Loras was upset with her for leaving early, before the lavish day-after brunch; he had not believed the excuse of her important appointment in London for a second. He had wanted her there for all of his wedding festivities… but she just—she couldn’t.

Momentarily distracted by her guilty conscience, she forgot her perceptions about the dodgy building and forced herself and her carry-on through the squeaky door.

On the inside, stuffy, but warm air enwrapped her and brought a grasp of comfort, likewise when the interior appeared only marginally better than the outside. A worn down yellow-ish carpet lining the floor, and artificial wood boarding along the walls suffocated the lobby in an outdated and restrictive atmosphere.

On her way over to the reception-counter she established that the one thing this place had going in its favour was its pernickety cleanliness, underlined by the smell of bleach lingering in the air.

When she hit the table bell, it took only a split second for a woman to appear from a door behind the counter and address her with a cordial smile.

The way the woman’s appearance seamlessly fit into the interior was nothing short of fascinating. Not a single hair in her back-combed Thatcher-esque hair was out of place. Her bright pink lipstick and turquoise eyeshadow mirrored the colour of her woollen ankle-length skirt. Altogether a flawless appearance, only a completely outdated one.

“Glad to see you made your way here in this ghastly weather.”

Some of Margaery’s tension disappeared with the warm words, and she presented a smile in response. “It was a close call,” she replied through a sigh. “The taxi had its troubles to get here through the snowdrifts.”

The woman produced a compassionate nod. “We don’t get weather like this very often, so the snowploughs get overwhelmed easily.” She pulled a registration card from a folder and examined it. “I appreciate we covered most of your information when we spoke on the phone, but if you can have a look to make certain all is—”

“Eh, actually, I booked online,” Margaery interrupted through a shake of her head and fished her phone from her pocket to present the email with the booking confirmation.

With drawn up eyebrows, the woman slipped the card back onto the desk, and her shoulders dropped. “Oh dear.” A flash later she’d already recovered her poise and pink fingernails tapped against the counter as she shot Margaery an apologetic smile. “Give me a short moment, will you?”

“Of course.”

Given the looks of this place, it was not completely a surprise that online bookings were more of an inconvenience; truthfully, looking around the lobby, Margaery was astonished they accepted them at all.

With the receptionist disappeared into the back room, she seized the opportunity and liberated herself of her beanie, shawl and mitts, and she pulled the zipper of her coat open.

A cold whiff of air carried along by the entrance door opening had her regret it in the second after.

Prepared to offer a polite greeting to the newly arriving guest, Margaery flung a look over her shoulder, and the smile slipped from her lips before it had ever truly unfolded.

Oh no.

After more or less fleeing from her own brother’s wedding and freezing her butt off at the train station, being stuck in the middle of nowhere, in the heart of a blizzard, she had already wondered if this night could get any worse. And there was her answer.

Her one hundred and seventy-five centimetres tall, most gorgeous, answer. 

“Sansa.” Her name slipped from Margaery's lips before she could consider it, before they had a chance to go the easy way and pretend that she had not seen her, had not recognised her.

“Hey.” A delicate blush covered Sansa’s cheeks when she greeted her. If that stemmed from the cold, or from the painful awkwardness of the situation was hard to establish. She removed her light-grey bobble cap that was covered in snowflakes and stayed there for a stage with her fingers fastened around it rigidly.

Margaery cleared her throat. “My train was cancelled.”

Sansa’s calm smile caused Margaery’s stomach to clench. Fuck, she had missed that smile.

“Same,” she gave back.

“I thought you were going to spend the night back at Penzance?”

The entire bloody reason she was in this situation, in this hotel, was because Sansa was going to spend the night there.

Sansa shook her head. “No, no. I mean, I was supposed to. But then a colleague texted me asking if I could take over his shift tomorrow because his wife went into labour, and I mean, how do you say no to that, right? So, yeah, no.”

Margaery wanted to smile at her rambling, but another thought that snuck its way into her mind prevented it and settled in her gut like a rock. “And your date?”

She hoped that the question did not sound as bitter as the words tasted in her mouth. It was not within her right to ask, she perceived that, but should the petite brunette that had not left Sansa’s side through all the reception make an appearance here, Margaery needed to know that now, needed to brace herself for it.

Sansa lowered her head for a moment, and long fingers settled around the handle of her carry-on. When she looked up again the charming blush from before had faded. “She has family close to Penzance. A cousin. She will have a long weekend.”

“Convenient.” Margaery cringed inwardly. Even to herself she sounded like the personification of a jealous ex-girlfriend.

“Yes.”

They remained for a minute in awkward silence. Margaery released a short breath of relief when the door behind the reception opened again and granted her a reason to turn away.

The woman was smiling a tense smile and squinted past Margaery, addressing her newly arrived guest. “Ms. Stark, I presume?”

After a mention of reluctance Sansa stepped next to Margaery. “Yes. Hi. I believe we spoke on the phone?”

“Yes.” The receptionist nodded and her most tense customer service expression was solidly back in place as she looked between them both, fingernails tapping nervously against a stack of papers. “I am most embarrassed about this, but I think we have a slight problem with your reservations.”

Of course.

Margaery denied herself any more wondering if this night could get any worse.

With an unmistakable sense of dread, she forced herself to ask, “Which reservation? Mine or hers?”

The woman cleared her throat. “Well, you see, I took Ms. Stark’s booking via phone while my colleague confirmed yours through our online booking system.”

The way Sansa chuckled untypically hoarsely drew a side glance from Margaery. Her jaws were set tight, like only when something stressed her. “Let me guess—you only have one room left.”

“I am afraid so.”

Feeling a tension headache coming on, Margaery rubbed a palm over the nape of her neck.

This place had been the only one in a radius of fifty kilometre that still had rooms available at all. There were no trains running, and the taxi driver had been reluctant to take her the few kilometres here. Going anywhere else was not an option.

The solution at hand was simple, but only added to the ache crawling up her neck.

No. All but that.

Gripping the edge of the counter and with a tense polite smile on her lips, she opted for a different proposal. “Do you have anything else available that could be repurposed to a room? A cot or a couch somewhere?”

Out of the corner of her eye she could see Sansa looking at her. “And who’s sleeping on that cot? You or I?”

In the prolonged pause that followed to Sansa’s statement Margaery met her eyes and found it hard not to writhe under the piercing gaze.

And then Sansa turned back to the receptionist and spoke the words Margaery had feared. “We will share the room.”

Despite her own consternation, the plain relief that emitted from the woman brought out the smallest of smiles from Margaery. Moments ago, the woman appeared ready to melt into the floor out of unease, but now she beamed at them like they had just offered her to pay tenfold of the original price. For the entire process of checking them in she did not desist in sheer endless Thank Yous for their understanding and apologising for the inconvenience; at last, she even granted them a substantial discount.

The elevator they squeezed themselves and their suitcases into was one of those models that had Margaery usually opting for the stairs. The doors did not open automatically but had to be closed and pulled open by hand. She thanked all her guardian angels when they made it to the fifth floor safely.

“I’m not sure if we are not being overcharged even with the discount,” Sansa commented as they took their suitcases through a corridor held in the same hideous design as the lobby.

“Supply and demand,” Margaery returned with a forced lightness and came to a stand in front of their assigned room.

Once unlocked Sansa held the door open for her, allowing her the precedence in exploring what their money had bought them.

Which -in all fairness- was not as bad as the looks of the rest of this place had her expecting. While everything else they had seen clearly had not been touched since the seventies, this room appeared to have undergone a refurbishment since then. By the style of the furniture, she guessed early nineties.

A colourful fabric with asymmetrical patterns blended with beechen furniture ran as a prevalent theme through the room. From the curtains, over the two tub chairs by the window, to the… bed.

Margaery swallowed.

The bed. One bed. That she would share with Sansa.

Tearing her eyes away from the most troublesome piece of furniture, they settled back on Sansa who worked on unbuttoning her coat with a strained, uncomfortable smile.

“This is better than expected, right?” Margaery did her best to look encouraging.

“The bar wasn’t very high though,” Sansa returned, shrugging her coat off. 

To have something to do other than stare at her opposite, Margaery moved past Sansa and dared a careful probing glance into the en-suite bathroom. She stiffened when Sansa appeared behind and commenced to take another step into the small room.

“It’s clean,” she judged, dragging a finger over the sink.

“Assuming that those tiles have always been yellow,” Sansa added for consideration.

It had been an attempt to lighten the mood, but instead of smiling, Margaery couldn’t help but cringe. “Thanks for that visual.”

With a light laugh, Sansa ducked her head, and Margaery took the occasion to size up her appearance. She was drawn in by it whether she wanted or not.

As always, she’d dressed properly for travelling, wore skinny jeans and leather boots with a wide fluffy royal blue sweater on top. Proper travel attire was something that Margaery had never troubled with, and hadn’t tonight either. Her own appearance beneath her coat was far more casual with her wide, comfortable grey hoodie, and a pair of black leggings. She’d washed off her make-up and had pulled her ever so carefully blown-out hair back into a loose ponytail. Sansa on the other hand, still wore the hint of eyeshadow that brought out the blue of her eyes, and her hair was still braided up in an elaborate way.

When she looked back up to meet Margaery’s eyes, there was a teasing spark in them, along with the most beautiful blush tinging her cheeks.

Feeling caught in her staring, Margaery did not wait to verify if the heat creeping up her neck was because of the room’s actual temperature or Sansa’s proximity, but quickly moved past Sansa out of the bathroom and worked on ridding herself of her coat.

“So, I don’t know about you-” eager to keep busy, to have something to do besides stare at Sansa, she hauled her suitcase to the bottom end of the bed “-but I’m pretty beat. I think I will just wash up and then drop dead into bed.”

“Same,” Sansa agreed. She remained there for a moment longer, with her wrists twisted and her hands intertwined. “I’ll let you have the bathroom first. I want to take a quick shower.”

Right. Sansa preferred her showers in the evening, Margaery in the morning. Usually.

Margaery’s hands went through neatly folded clothes. “Actually, after four hours out in the cold, I wouldn’t mind a hot shower either.” She straightened her back and swung back to Sansa, one hand holding on to the top of her toilet bag. “So, if you prefer to go first…”

Sansa shook her head promptly. “I think four hours out in the cold wins you bathroom privileges first.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

With the promise to be quick, Margaery gathered her things and dashed off into the bathroom. Once the door closed behind her she slumped back against it, closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath.

Why did this have to be so awkward? Sansa’s presence was so very familiar, that should have settled her, shouldn’t it? And yet, it was like she had unlearned how to talk to her, how she normally behaved around her.

With the sound of the TV droning in the room, Margaery pulled herself together. It was one night; she would survive one night.

Stripping her clothes into a pile on the floor and pulling her hair up into a bun, Margaery stepped into the shower. The water pressure was weak, but the temperature reached the nearly scalding heat she needed so desperately. Despite the temptation to stay in there as long as possible, as it meant a couple more minutes of avoiding Sansa, she kept it short.

Wrapped in her towel, she swiftly progressed through the remains of her night-routine, and came to a screeching halt when she reached for her pyjamas.

Well, technically, _Sansa’s_ pyjamas.

A pair made of pink flannel with white polka-dots she had snatched from her years ago and never returned. She’d taken them on this trip because they were her declared favourite, the ones she slept in virtually every night. They were fluffy and comfortable and—yes, they reminded her of Sansa.

She stood for a couple of seconds contemplating before at last pulling the treacherous pair of nightwear on.

With her toilet bag and old clothes pressed to her front, as if they could disguise what she was wearing, Margaery stepped back into the room. She found Sansa on the bed, leaning against the headboard with her legs stretched out and sock clad feet crossed.

She noticed - _recognised_ \- the pyjamas with one glance at Margaery, but didn’t comment, only smiled faintly, a mention of wistfulness there.

“That was quick.”

“I didn’t want to risk using all the hot water,” Margaery gave back, setting the pile of her things into her suitcase.

“Most considerate of you.” Sansa went to her feet and clamped her own nightwear and toiletries under one arm. “I hope it’s alright that I occupied this side of the bed… I just… the window seems kind of drifty and I know you get cold easily, so…”

“It’s fine,” Margaery assured through a brisk nod.

It had nothing to do with the window. That was an attentive thought, but a lie. The right side of the bed was Sansa’s, the left Margaery’s. That had been established from the very first night they spent together, and in every afterwards regardless of where they had slept. 

Appreciating the moment by herself, Margaery sat on the bed and took quiet note of how carefully Sansa had set up the room.

A certain freshness that indicated she had opened the window for what she called “shock ventilation” lingered in the air. Something they had compromised on countless times when Sansa wanted the window open for the night and Margaery preferred it closed. Both suitcases had been brought from the bed to the floor. She had removed the bedspread, pulled white bedding back and fluffed the pillows, all perfectly inviting to slip into. Two bedside lamps dunked the room into a pleasant mellow light.

Ever the perfect homemaker, no matter where you put her.

Margaery’s eyes landed on the bottle of water Sansa had set on her nightstand and she smiled. She’d done this so many times, knowing that Margaery got thirsty at night. The sweet gesture sent a wave of longing through Margaery, made her miss her, even when she was just on the other side of the wall.

Intending to be asleep by the time Sansa finished her shower, Margaery slipped into bed and curled up on her side, decisively turning her back to the other side of the bed, pulling the blankets up to her neck. She closed her eyes and willed herself to fall asleep while she listened to the low drizzle of water running, then realized she could hear Sansa humming to herself.

She smiled, recalling the first few times she’d heard Sansa sing in the shower, when they had just started dating. Sansa had clambered out of bed with the biggest smile in the mornings, belting happy songs at the top of her lungs. Sometimes Margaery had joined her in the bathroom, and in her singing. A solid year must have passed since the last time they had done that.

Margaery crushed the blanket to her front and settled into a breathing exercise to help her fall asleep.

Never had she dreaded Sansa coming to bed. Even when the end of their relationship had already become apparent -inevitable- she had loved the feeling of the mattress shifting with her weight. Knowing that she was next to her had invariably been an origin of comfort, whether entangled in her arms or just being able to listen to the sound of her breathing.

In all fairness, she did not dread it now either… but she was nervous.

Sansa tended to bring up heavy topics just before going to sleep, and Margaery wanted to avoid any attempts of talking about how they had been, or -worse- explanations of her moving on. 

She gave up hope of falling asleep when the sound of water running stopped. Sansa was lavish with her time in showering, but most efficient in her night-routine. There was no way she could really be asleep before she came to bed.

Just when she examined the childish impulse of pretending to be asleep, a whiff of fresh smelling steam invaded the room together with Sansa’s voice. “Marg? Are you still up?”

The nickname coming from Sansa caused Margaery prop up on her elbow and shift around before she thought about it twice. Bloody conditioned brain. She found Sansa’s head peeking out of the door. “Yes?”

“There is, uh, there is no second towel.” A moment of silence. “I think I saw some in the closet, could you check? Please.”

Margaery swallowed, forced indecent thoughts away before they could reach the forefront of her mind and got out of bed.

She found a neatly folded second set sitting on the top shelf. Keeping her eyes averted when she handed the stack of white towels through the agape door was nothing but an endurance test for her will power; Sansa’s damp hand brushed hers and lingered. A sweet smile was perceptible in her voice.

“Thank you so much.”

She dared a quick glance at Sansa’s face and smiled too. “No problem.”

If going to sleep had been a struggle before, now it was entirely out of her reach. She settled back in bed, pulled the blanket around herself and instantly felt too warm. Sighing, she moved a leg out and reached for her phone. Loras had texted her, asking if she had been murdered yet. Wiping the message preview away, she flung it back on the nightstand.

For another minute she lay there, staring into space while Sansa rummaged around in the bathroom. She fished the remote from Sansa’s side of the bed and turned on the TV.

Perhaps some good old-fashioned TV would help her drift off.

She zapped through the programs aimlessly before settling on a _Friends_ rerun.

“Ah! I love that episode!” Sansa sounded through the door and pushed it open a few moments later, sticking her head out.

Margaery smiled mildly, keeping her eyes trained on the screen where Rachel taunted her sister with her Ralph Lauren discount. Sansa knew most of these episodes by heart. Without missing a beat Margaery quoted a line from a different episode that she had often used before to tease Sansa. “If you know it through a wall, you know it too well.”

“I will take the love for this show to my grave.” Sansa emerged from the en-suite, enwrapped in a clean smell, her hair spilling in silky waves over her shoulders after freeing it from the updo. Radiant as ever, but it was her night attire that had Margaery’s mouth run dry. Sansa had changed into a relatively harmless white long-sleeved top, coupled with a pair of black shorts, that did their name all justice, and left perfect long legs on shameless display.

Sansa’s eyes did not deviate from the TV when she leaned against the wall, one foot braced against the bed, and ran a brush through her hair, giggling softly at the escalating conflict between Rachel and her sister. Margaery was fairly sure that she wasn’t conscious of what she was doing. She appeared genuinely taken in by the sitcom.

“Christina Applegate’s Emmy win was so earned.” Finally setting her leg back down and placing the brush aside, Sansa slipped beneath the blanket, sitting against the headboard. “Do you mind if we watch for a bit?”

“If you don’t mind me snoozing off somewhere in the middle.”

“Wouldn’t be a proper _Friends_ marathon without you snoring through it,” Sansa shot back promptly and gave Margaery a mocking look.

This was treading on dangerous territory, more domestic and familiar than it should have been. It felt perilously good to sense Sansa’s body warmth next to her, the smell of her shower gel in her nose, to see her smiling down at her; nevertheless it was better than that awkward silence from before, beating any attempts of small talk. “I could always stay up and point out all the ways this show did not age well.”

Sansa laughed and shook her head. “God, no. Please. Doze off.”

Crushing the pillow underneath her head, Margaery rolled onto her side, facing away from Sansa. “Good night, Sansa.”

She did not have to look to feel Sansa’s eyes linger on her for another note after. “Good night, Marg.”

Smiling at the softly uttered nickname, despite herself, Margaery pulled the blanket a little higher. Maybe she would make it through this night after all. Maybe it would not be that bad.

…

To her surprise Margaery dozed off rather quickly, scarcely held her eyes open through the commercials in-between episodes, waking ever so briefly when the theme song resounded, and drifted off before it finished.

It was not a particularly deep sleep, no means how drained she had felt falling asleep. That her ex-girlfriend was lying only centimetres away from her remained in her subconscious and kept her tense. It had taken weeks until she had gotten used to sleeping alone after their break-up, but once she had, she’d become accustomed to splaying out over the entire space of the bed. Now she limited herself to thirty centimetres.

An unpleasant tingling in her arm, from staying in the same position for too long woke her in the middle of the night. With a subdued groan, and still more asleep than awake, she twisted onto her other side and almost drifted off again. A sleepy smile spread over her lips when she blinked and found Sansa’s peacefully sleeping face only centimetres away from her own. With her eyes already falling shut again, she settled an arm over Sansa’s middle and tangled her fingers in the blanket over her back, shifting just the tiniest bit closer.

Margaery loved these times in the middle of the night when she could curl into her. “Even in your sleep you can’t keep your hands off me,” Sansa had once joked when they had woken up in a jumble of entangled limbs and hair.

When realisation hit, Margaery ceased breathing.

A dull ache throbbed through her body, like she had been shaken awake from deep sleep.

This was not okay.

Cuddling up to Sansa was not okay. Not anymore.

It was not okay, it was not right, she knew that and yet couldn’t oblige her body to pull back as she should have.

Every still functioning part of her brain screamed at her to let go, to turn back around and get as much distance between them as she could before Sansa could wake up, but every fibre of her body ached to stay and enjoy being this close to her for a minute longer, the feel of her chest rising and falling beneath her hand, the soft warmth of her body so close, her face -her lips- just centimetres from her own.

It had been too fucking long.

In the preceding six months she had regretted letting her go a million times, but the reality of it just struck her now that she was back in her arms.

When she had hugged her goodbye six months ago, when she had let go, it had hurt, but she had not yet experienced how grim things would be without her. Now she had, and it scared her to go back to it.

She had enough lonely nights where she hugged a pillow to her chest to be able to sleep. Mornings where she sprung out of bed with the first sound of her alarm, because it appeared too big for her alone.

She watched Sansa’s face in the room's darkness, content and tranquil. Her lips the tiniest bit agape, a strand of hair fallen over her cheek. Margaery’s fingers itched to brush it back, to feel its softness.

It had been the biggest mistake of her life to let her go.

And for what? For an ambition, a dream, that had turned out not what she had hoped it to be.

Now it was too late. Sansa had moved on.

She fastened her hand tighter into the blanket over Sansa’s back, held on for the length of one, two breaths… and then she let go. She trailed back slowly, mindful not to wake Sansa, and in that was not the slightest bit prepared for Sansa’s hand reaching out and circling around her lower arm.

Barely holding back a shriek of surprise, widened eyes flitted to Sansa’s face, were ready for confusion to appear in it, but found it in pure peace. Lids remained closed when she moved Margaery’s hand back to where it had been. She looped her arm around Margaery’s back and drew her flush against herself.

“Where’re you goin’,” she murmured sleepily. “Stay.”

Margaery knew she should have pulled back, should have woken her up, should have told her she was not who Sansa presumed her to be, but she had caught her by surprise, and in a moment of weakness. She did not resist Sansa drawing her close, let her eyes fall close when fingers moved up her spine to the back of her head, and let herself be tucked beneath Sansa’s chin. She disappeared into the feeling of heated skin against her cheek.

This was not right. This would not end well. And Margaery could not bring herself to care.

Not when this could be the last time she’d ever be this close to her again.

She let her lips graze over Sansa’s collarbone and tightened her grip, as she allowed herself to drift into the luxury of this moment. She would fret about consequences tomorrow.

…

A low but constant cluttering woke Margaery up the next morning. A pleasant dream still just at the grasp of her consciousness, she sewed her face solidly into the warm darkness of the pillow, shielding her eyes from the subdued morning light that engulfed the room, seeking to shut out the ominous noise along with it.

Without avail. 

Every time Margaery thought that finally whatever was causing the sound had stopped, and she was on the verge of drifting off, it started once more.

“Not fair,” she grumbled into the pillow, pressing her face into it firmer.

She had had the nicest dream. The bed was soft and warm, and she was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open. A familiar scent reached her nose, and she smiled a little. Sansa. Her brand of deodorant. She would recognise just about anywhere. It was unmistakable. A brand she ordered from Italy. So many times, she had made fun of Sansa’s sole decadent habit.

Still smiling, she hugged the pillow a little tighter to herself. It had been months since she had felt this relaxed waking up and she—

Her eyes fluttered open and the preceding night came charging back to her and unease laced through her in waves.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

She frantically rubbed a hand over her eyes as she pushed herself into a sitting position. That she was in bed alone only soothed her mind for a flash. She might have been spared the dilemma of waking up cuddled up to Sansa, but she had almost no doubt that Sansa had woken up with them in just that compromising position.

“Good morning.”

She only noticed Sansa coming out of the bathroom when she stood at the foot end of the bed.

Margaery sat unmoving in the centre of the bed, one hand on top of the pillow -Sansa’s pillow- that she had hugged to herself moments earlier. If she still had any doubts about Sansa knowing of their peculiar sleeping position, it disappeared with the heavy silence that spanned between them as they looked at each other.

She knew, Margaery realised with one look into her eyes, and felt her heart in her throat.

“Morning.” The word worked its way out of her throat as smoothly as barbed wire.

This was worse than the most unpleasant one-night-stand of her life.

“I hope I didn’t wake you.” 

“You didn’t,” Margaery lied, forcing a light smile, running a hand through her hair.

When Sansa turned away for a second, she seized the chance to discreetly scoot to her own side of the bed and slump back against the headboard. Blindly reaching for the untouched bottle of water, taking a long sip, Margaery watched Sansa slipping used clothes back into her suitcase. Sansa had to have been awake for a while already; she was fully dressed in her skinny jeans and fluffy sweater from last night, her hair set into a fishtail braid that draped loosely over her shoulder. She looked fresh, well rested - entirely too pretty.

“Is it okay if I put the TV on?” Sansa asked, the remote already in hand, but hitting the button only after Margaery had nodded. “My weather app was a bit inconclusive about the forecast. I want to see if I can find a local—” She silenced and stopped her zapping through the channels when she found what she was looking for.

A reporter stood in heavy snowfall, snowflakes covering everything in the frame, from the top of her head, over her shoulders, to the tip of the mike. “… calling this the winter of the decade. And if you look just behind me here, you can see that it’s not exaggerated. Authorities are advising to avoid any non-essential trips outside due to backed-up winter services.”

Margaery sat up a little straighter, nervously playing with the plastic ring on the bottle cap. Sansa sunk down on the foot end of the bed; her eyes focused on the TV with anxious attention.

“The airports all over Cornwall have been closed for all incoming and outbound flights until tomorrow evening. From the last update received the M5 is already passable again from Exeter in a northward direction, however the ploughs are still struggling with the A30, A38, A39.”

“What do you reckon our chances are that trains are still running?” Sansa asked with a quick glance her way.

“Limited,” Margaery returned, and already reached for her phone, opening the National Rail app. Several red warning signs staring back at her on the dashboard emphasized her prediction. When entering location and destination, it affirmed her assumption.

She read out loud, “Heavy snowfall has led to disruptions at various locations in Cornwall… Trains are unable to run between Penzance and Plymouth, Plymouth and Exeter. We expect this disruption will continue until December 8th, 21:00.”

“That’s tomorrow night! I am supposed to work this afternoon.” Sansa gave a small shake of her head as she clutched the remote tighter and angled herself towards Margaery, one foot tucked beneath herself. “We will have to get a rental car.”

Margaery tilted her head and made a face. “You want to drive in this weather?”

“I have driven in worse,” Sansa waved off with a shrug. “If we drive carefully, we might make it back to London by tonight.”

Margaery stared at her for a moment, held back the remark that she had already looked into rental cars last night and come up empty.

Truth be told, she did not hate the prospect of making it back by tonight. Awaiting in London she had had a whole string of errands to take care of; visits to different authorities, meeting with friends, a stop at her parents’ house to pack up a few stored… she truly had no time to just sit around and do nothing for two complete days.

“We can try,” she agreed finally.

The cautious optimism was wrecked a good twenty minutes and five phone calls later. Only one of the two rental lots in a closer distance was indeed open today and for cars not being returned on time because of the weather, nothing was available until at least tomorrow.

“Looks like we are officially stuck,” Margaery concluded through a sigh, after Sansa had hung up.

So much for the prospect of just having to stick this out for one night.

“It appears so.” Sansa’s phone landed back on the nightstand with a little too much force and she dropped back on top of the covers, one hand set against her forehead.

Margaery pulled the hairband that held the bun on her head barely in place anymore and drove a hand through her curls. “They have us on their waiting list. Maybe there will be something by tonight.”

“Yeah maybe.” Sansa stared up at the Styrofoam tiles on the ceiling.

Clearly that prospect was not adequate to eliminate her frustration. If Margaery ventured a guess, it was more the consequence of it all.

They were stuck here. Together. Again.

Which, yeah, she could not exactly blame her. Sharing a room with your ex, the same ex cuddling up to you in your sleep, no matter how innocently, that had to be tough to explain to your significant other.

It was understandable, but still stung.

“What about you?” Sansa asked after a moment. She had pushed herself up on her elbows and flung her an inquiring look. “When do you have to be back in Vancouver?”

“Thursday.”

Something unpleasant settled in Margaery’s gut with the mention of Vancouver. It was a topic that was expected to come up eventually, but she would avoid it for as long as possible for just how emotionally charged it was.

“Already?”

Margaery nodded as she heaved herself out of bed and went to open the window wide. It was one of those things that had been ingrained in her habits even after she and Sansa had split. Shock ventilation in the morning. She remained by the radiator, pressing herself against it as fresh cold air engulfed the room.

“I am back to work on Saturday,” she returned and slung her arms around herself to fend off a shiver.

“That sounds brutal.”

It was. She dreaded the jetlag she had coming her way, but she was also lucky to have gotten these ten days off as it was, especially while still in her probation period.

The vibrating of her phone saved her from dwelling further on the topic, and she pushed herself off the wall, glancing at the screen.

“Loras,” she stated with an apologetic look in Sansa’s direction, swiped her thumb across the screen and answered. “Hey.”

“So you are alive.” Margaery sunk to sit on the edge of the bed, her back turned to Sansa, and rolled her eyes. A passive aggressive newlywed brother was just what she needed right now.

“Disappointed?” she bit back.

“I was concerned,” he clarified in an all too serious big-brother-tone. “You can’t just say that you are about to check in to a murder hotel and then stop responding to any of my messages.”

“I was sleeping,” Margaery justified with a faint laugh. “You were not seriously worried, were you?”

“Not about last night, no.” A note of silence followed. “But I am worried about you.”

Margaery swallowed the lump that wanted to form in her throat, fully aware that the volume of the phone was loud enough for Sansa to hear every single word. In an effort to scotch just how much she could hear, she went to her feet and in a perfectly casual manner moved to close the window, sweeping a few snowflakes off the sill as she remained there. “You don’t have to be.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he said with a gentle pleading that she would have appreciated tremendously at any other time. For months every other topic had taken the backseat behind the bloody wedding. There was so much that she longed to talk to him about, that she had pushed back, but right now, with Sansa right next to her, was the most inappropriate time to do so. “I know I have not been the easiest groom-to-be.”

“Bridezilla,” she corrected without missing a beat.

His chuckle on the other end sounded warm and comforting. “I suppose I deserve that.”

“You do.”

“Anyway,” he drew the word out. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for being a dick when you left yesterday. I know it must have been difficult seeing Sansa again.” Margaery was sure that the name sounded with at least fifty decibels out of the speaker. “I swear I didn’t know she was bringing a date. Our wedding planner was dealing with all the RSVPs. Honestly, though? I cannot believe her. I thought she had more class than that. I mean, she knew you would be there.”

In her peripheral vision, she could see that Sansa had picked up her own phone and was swiping over the screen. There was no chance that she had not heard Loras’ words just now, no matter how absorbed she tried to appear. 

She stared outside where thick snowflakes fell into what she deemed to be a small backyard garden and took a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter. Listen, sweetie, this is not the best time right now.”

Now he did not bother to hide his concern. “Marg. Are you okay?”

“I am.” She forced a smile, hoping that it would transmit into her voice. “I will text you later, okay? Will hourly proofs of my survival be acceptable?”

He sighed, knowing that he had hit a barricade in their conversation. “Will I see you before you fly back?”

“Of course.”

“Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“I will,” she promised, the knot lodged in her throat not quite dissolved yet.

When a peeping signified the end of the call, she held it at her ear for a moment still. With the comfort of her brother’s voice gone, the roaring silence was back and left her wondering if she had not been too hasty in stifling the conversation.

She coped in the sole way she knew how to and plastered a smile on her face when turning back around to Sansa. “I wonder if Renly is annoyed with him already, that I end up with calls from him on only the second morning of their marriage,” she said in a gossipy tone as she dropped the phone back on the nightstand.

“Maybe they are having a bit of a mood hangover after the romantic high that was their wedding,” Sansa returned, merely glancing up from her own phone.

“Maybe,” Margaery agreed, her fingers playing with the string of the room telephone. “It has been all both of them have been able to talk about in the past year.”

Now Sansa sent her a momentary smile. “You predicted that after Renly proposed, remember?”

Margaery smiled back with a good-humoured roll of her eyes. “Yes, and they exceeded even my worst expectations.”

The silence returned and for a moment she stood there before tearing through it once more. “How about I get dressed and we find ourselves some breakfast?”


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more a big thank you to the wonderful Rumpabumbum for beta-reading and enduring my excessive comma use!

When they made their way outside, it did not take more than a couple of minutes for either of them to be dusted with snowflakes. Fortunately the wind drifts had ceased since the previous night, making the walk down the road more picturesque than unpleasant.

“This is so peaceful,” Sansa noted after they had scampered through ankle deep snow for a while, looking over snow-covered houses, barely any people in the streets.

Margaery followed her eyes over the perfect, unbroken layer of snow all around them. With the darkness brought upon by the snowstorm, a lot of the houses already had their Christmas lights on.

“It is marvellous, isn’t it? Like straight out of a Christmas movie.”

“Or Christmas in Winterfell.”

Margaery plastered a smile on her face to varnish over the melancholy that settled densely in her mind. The last two years they had spent Christmas on the Stark family estate up north. Winterfell was perhaps the only place in the world to match this idyllic scenery here. “Yes. But without the hazard of being dragged into a snowball fight by Arya.”

That wistful look appeared in Sansa’s expression. “It will be a challenge this year, trying to conquer her and the boys without your support.”

“I think actually your chances might be better without me seeking to use you as a human shield,” Margaery replied with feigned lightness. The question if she was not taking her new girlfriend burned on her tongue, but she held it back. Better to keep things simple. “So, you’re spending Christmas at home?”

Sansa nodded. “Just Christmas Eve. Christmas Day and Boxing Day, I will have to be back to work. Busy times in the crisis centre.”

“I can imagine.”

“How about you? Are you coming back for Christmas?”

Margaery shook her head. “No. I was lucky to get these days off. I am looking at my first Canadian Christmas.”

“All by yourself?” Just how horrified Sansa sounded was extremely endearing.

Margaery buried her hands deeper in the pocket of her coat. “I will work, so I will have my colleagues around.” A lousy attempt to not have it sound as pathetic as it would be. “You know me, not much of a Christmas person anyhow.”

Or she had not been. Before Sansa. Before the cheerful family holidays spent in Winterfell. Even spending Christmas with her own family could not match the warmth of spending the holidays with the Starks. Really, working was probably the best option she had.

“Plus, the happy newlyweds want to make a stop in Vancouver on their way back from Hawaii for New Year’s, so I opted to have those days off.”

“That will be nice for sure,” Sansa said, the slightest bit consolidated. “You’ll have a wonderful time showing them the city.”

“Oh yes, I plan to go into full tour guide mode. There is so much I want them to see.”

Truthfully, it would not be so much showing them the city, as seeing it herself for the first time.

They arrived at the small café recommended by the receptionist. The moment Sansa opened the door for her, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and pastries streamed toward them and had Margaery’s stomach churning. In all her agitation concerning her circumstances, she had barely noticed just how hungry she was. Her last meal had consisted of a small bag of crisps and an apple yesterday afternoon in the train.

In a quick, self-evident understanding, Margaery saved them a seat at one of the few remaining tables while Sansa placed their order.

Margaery smiled faintly as she observed how plates were piled up with a varied choice of jams, scones and clotted cream - just the things she loved in her breakfast. She had not told Sansa what she wanted, and Sansa had not asked.

The content she felt in that moment ran deeper than it should have, but for this instance she granted it to herself.

If she squinted, if she shut out all reason, it was almost like they had never broken up. Like this was just a weekend where they were stuck here and had to pass time.

Clearly that was not the healthiest coping mechanism. Only, well, she had missed her. A lot. And after months apart, it was nice to spend time with her again. It was nice to know that their bond had not vanished.

Sansa came to the table with a heavily loaded tray. In contrast to Margaery’s sweet pastries, she had decided on a classic savoury breakfast. After loading off two steaming mugs of coffee, and liberating herself of her coat, Sansa sat down to her right and promptly had a first sip of the hot beverage, humming into the cup in delight.

“Mild caffeine withdrawal?” Margaery quipped with a small smile.

Sansa glanced at her, hiding a smile of her own behind the cup. “What gave me away? My exceedingly good mood this morning?”

Dipping a piece of scone into a small dish with jam, Margaery took her in cautiously. “I don’t expect that coffee would have made the difference in that.”

Sansa leaned back and rolled her neck. “Fair. I hope I wasn’t too awful?”

Shaking her head, Margaery took a bite from her scone, saving herself from a too detailed answer.

Spreading butter on top of a slice of toast, Sansa tilted her head. “We kind of lost track just now. I’d really like to hear more about Vancouver. Are you liking it?”

Even though the question surprised Margaery, and for a second she had to concentrate so her food went down the right way, she did not miss a beat in nodding. “I do.”

Sansa brought a fork full of scrambled eggs to her mouth, halting and looking expectantly for more details beyond a simple affirmation.

After a quick sip of her coffee, Margaery was ready to give a more colourful response. “I mean, what can I say? It is amazing. You have this flourishing city, but you also have beaches, and parks—not to mention the mountains, right there. It’s the perfect mix out of everything.”

She hoped that her lying was not too obvious in sounding like a travel catalogue. To be sincere, what she had seen of Vancouver so far was lovely, only, well— so far with her insane schedule at work, she had not seen more than the block of her apartment building, the hospital where she worked, and whatever lay on her commute.

“It sounds like the perfect combination for you.” The mild wistful expression returned to Sansa’s face, but only for a few seconds before being replaced by a teasing smirk. “A compensation for the years in London and it’s lack of proximity to the sea.”

Margaery chuckled at the call back. In all her fondness for London, she had never gotten over that its only shorelines were those along the Thames. “You could say that.”

“And the mountains?” Sansa probed on. “As gorgeous as the pictures suggest?”

“I have only seen them from afar until now,” she returned, this time sticking to the truth. “They recommend you take at least a full day for a trip, and so far, my schedule has not allowed that yet. But it’s on the top of my list.”

… or more like middle of her list. Top of her list was taking a different way home from work, so she’d at least see some other part of the city.

“And how is the work?”

“It’s great.” That lie came a lot harder off her lips -most likely because there was a lot more to palliate in that area than in swooning about the prettiness of the city- but once she had started, more half-truths followed easily. “I mean, you read all about the genius that Cersei Lannister is in her field, but seeing her in action is genuinely inspiring. Her interhemispheric approach for aneurysms? I have seen nothing like it. She is the most brilliant surgeon I have ever worked with.”

She was also a raging bitch who hated Margaery’s guts.

That specific surgery was the only one Margaery had indeed been in Cersei’s OR for in the six months of working under her wing. And that had only happened because her usual favoured assistant surgeon, an untalented prick named Joffrey, (who happened to be her son) had been out sick. He was by the ice queen’s side in essentially every surgery, receiving the training that would have been within Margaery’s prerogative.

“I can only imagine,” Sansa said through a nod. “I have watched videos of her procedures, and those were magnificent.”

“She is the best. There is no denying that.”

“And then with your talent? You must be her prime student.”

Margaery smiled in a way that she hoped came across as modest. She had the potential to be. Or at least she had thought so once upon a time.

Most of her days she spent doing Cersei’s auxiliary work. From post-ops, over filing, to endless medial tasks. Had it not been for the vast number of night shifts she regularly found in her schedule, she would probably not have seen the inside of an OR at all in her time there. Would have maybe worried to lose her skill altogether.

“You will finish that program as one of the world’s best surgeons.”

“That’s the hope.”

It ached to see Sansa so genuinely excited for her. Not that it was the first time that Margaery lied through her teeth about just how amazing working under the distinguished Doctor Cersei Lannister was. Only in particular with Sansa, it bore a sour aftertaste.

She longed to tell someone about all of this, but, how could she?

Margaery had wanted this fellowship more than she had wanted anything ever before in her life. It was the chance of a lifetime and she had surrendered her entire life to it.

She’d surrendered her relationship with Sansa to it.

They had broken up so Margaery could take this chance of a lifetime.

“I’m happy to hear that, Marg,” Sansa sounded so sincere that Margaery’s throat closed up. “Really, I’m glad that it’s everything you wished it to be. Anything else would be hard to bear.”

For just a second Margaery hated her a little for putting it into these words.

Hard to bear.

Yes, that just about hit the nail on the head.

No, admitting her sincere sentiments to Sansa was not an option.

Not that it mattered now anyway. Sansa had moved on. Going back now, admitting that she had failed at her dream and had lost Sansa over it, would be even worse than seeing it through.

…

“Okay,” Sansa announced, wiping fingers on her napkin and setting her empty plate aside before leaning back in her chair. “Perhaps It’s a good thing that we have to stay another night, because I don’t see myself being capable of moving before tonight.”

It was past noon. They had concluded their breakfast after two more cups of coffee and with only crumbs remaining on their plates.

Margaery’s jaws hurt from maintaining a fake smile as she, in absence of any alternatives, had filled the rest of their breakfast with mindless details about her life and work in Vancouver. Some just whitewashed, others plainly made up.

Eventually she had been able to shift the topic away from herself and toward Sansa, her life, her family, her line of work at the women’s crisis centre. Asking questions had turned out far safer than being on the receiving end of them.

Margaery offered a sympathetic smile. “I might opt for a postprandial walk.”

That produced some alertness back in Sansa’s sated, tired expression. “You want to go for a walk? In the midst of a blizzard?”

“It’s not that bad anymore,” Margaery defended with a glance outside and a shrug. It was still snowing, but the winds that had blown snowflakes viciously yesterday had broken off. “And we are not too far from the South-West Coast Path.”

Now Sansa leaned forward, her head propped up on her hands, staring at her like she had definitely lost her mind. “You want to hike along steep cliffs in the middle of a snowstorm?”

“I just want some fresh air.”

The extensive breakfast had left her tired as well, but for the life of her, she did not want to go back into that hotel room. The mood between them might have not been as tense as last night, still ...going back now… she would fall asleep. With another night due to be spent next to Sansa, she favoured exhaustion over her treacherous subconscious desires. 

Sansa watched her pull on her beanie and scarf, hesitated another instant and then, with a notably sour face, nodded. “Give me five minutes to digest my last bites and I’ll join you.”

“You really don’t have to—”

She was not having any of it. “There is a blizzard out there. If you become lost in it, I’d prefer being with you to explaining that to your family.”

Even when getting some fresh air had been a euphemism for getting away from Sansa for a while, the warm fuzzy notion that grew with Sansa being concerned about her, and choosing to spend time with her, let Margaery smile.

…

The passage of the South-West Coast Path was on the other side of the small town. Their easy small talk that had dwelt largely on the latest gossip about mutual friends and former colleagues silenced when they arrived at a vantage point on the coastline.

It was positively breath-taking. Steep cliffs and bays with sandy beaches had disappeared under a dense layer of snow, while foam-coated waves lazily rolled against them.

Pulling her shawl up to her nose, Margaery braced her gloved fingers around a steel fence and stared out into the distance of the sea for the longest time.

Without protecting buildings the winds were a lot stronger, carried a heavier humidity. But looking at the vastness of the sea stretching out before them, Margaery felt that she could have spent her entire day here.

Spending time by the sea was something that had always grounded her, and it had the same effect now.

This forced break was inconvenient for more reasons than just Sansa’s proximity, but standing there she realised just how much she needed it. She was on vacation, and for the first time it felt like it. For the first time in months, she felt like she was slowing down.

Enough to take a metaphorical step back and marvel why she was upholding this relentless pace.

For what? A job she did not even like. That had not always been her, had it? She had always been devoted to her work, but she had also upheld something like a work-life balance. Not too long ago she had loved going to work instead of seeing it as a compulsory task. A year ago, she would not have dreamed of making up lies about how wonderful her job was, because it had been.

Margaery drew a shuddering breath and felt tears ascending to her eyes that stung in the cold air.

She needed to take a close and serious look if this dream of hers was worth all of that. If she left her job now she doubted she would get a glowing evaluation, but perhaps for once not focusing how something would look in her resume—

“Glorious, isn’t it?” Sansa's awed voice broke her musings.

Margaery dared a look in her direction and felt immediately rejoiced by the sight of Sansa, whose gaze drifted into the distance; her appearance was as gorgeous as that of the scenery before her.

Sansa had a natural beauty to her that best and fully emerged when outside in raw nature. It was more than just her complexion, more than just her hair being ruffled up by the wind or her eyes shining with amazement.

Her eyes lingered on Sansa when she breathed her answer, “Magnificent.”

Sansa’s gaze found hers before she could deter it, and Margaery felt she could see her own longing mirrored in it, along with a sadness deeper than she could bear.

Margaery plastered a smile on her face to downplay the heaviness of the moment. “You know, this would make a perfect profile pic.” Before Sansa could respond, she took a step back and fished her phone from her coat pocket. “Look back out at the water like you just were.”

The tension of the moment needed a second longer to fall off Sansa, but it did merge into a bashful smile. “You know I don’t like posed pictures,” she mumbled, nevertheless following Margaery’s instructions and looking away again. She fought for a neutral expression as she did. “This will look so fake.”

Margaery took a few steps further back, trying to find a good angle. “Have some faith,” she requested, taking the first couple of pictures. After a series of pictures, none quite what she aimed for, a sly smile appeared on her face. “Okay, all done.”

With the words Sansa’s posture and face relaxed, and Margaery hit the trigger button one more time. That last one was perfect.

Margaery grinned in triumph. She had used that trick so many times it was amazing that she still fell for it.

In her excitement to present her the result Margaery went just a tad too fast. And that was all it took. Her left foot lost its grip in an unevenness on the ground, twisted into an unnatural position that had a sharp pain shoot through her ankle. Only quick reflexes had her clutch the railing, stopping her from losing her footing altogether and colliding with the ground.

Sansa was in front of her in a split-second, hands on either side of her waist, stabilizing her further. “Shit. Are you okay?”

Adrenaline still surged through her, but she achieved a nod, glancing from Sansa’s uneasy face towards her left foot. Pain still pulsed through it and increased when she gingerly tried to put weight onto it. She bit back a whine and shifted her weight back to her other foot. “Fuck.”

Sansa lost no time in maneuvering her to sit on a bench a few metres away and knelt in front of her freeing her foot from the fur lined Ugg boot. Margaery winced when she peeled off the sock, less at the physical discomfort, and more so at the unmistakable swelling that was already visible.

Ridding her hands of mitts, Sansa carefully examined along the tender area, her eyes flitting back and forth between Margaery’s face and foot.

“I don’t think it’s broken,” she determined after a short while, relief in her features.

“No,” Margaery agreed, feeling a bit nauseated. “But it’s a nasty sprain.”

This was just about the last thing she needed. Even if just a sprain, it would be a while before fully resilient again, and only with a lot of luck, in time before she had to be back at work on Saturday. Not to mention travelling with it and running her errands back in London. As much as going back to the hotel suddenly sounded like a challenge.

Margaery fought another wave of nausea, feeling miserable enough to cry.

Sansa’s fingertips landed on her wrist, slid between the material of her glove and coat. “You’re as white as this snow,” she noted, not letting her out of her sight as she checked her pulse. “Maybe we ought to get you to an ER.”

Margaery shook her head. “The shock just went straight to my circulation. I will be fine in a minute.”

“They could do an x-ray.”

Despite the misfortune of it all, Margaery worked up a mocking smile. “Is it your or my assessment you don’t trust, Nurse Stark?”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “Doctors make the worst patients.”

“I give you three words: Second degree sunburn.”

A delicate smile spread at the statement. “Fine, maybe not just doctors.” Blue eyes stayed on her for a good minute longer, before she moved back into a standing position, a consoling hand to Margaery’s shoulder as her eyes searched the closer distance. “Still, we should at least get a stabilizing bandage on you.”

Margaery sighed, perceiving that she was right. “There,” she pointed at the lit sign of a pub in a good two-hundred-meter distance. “That place looks open. Maybe they have a first aid kit.”

“And if we are lucky the contact of a taxi company that is still running.”

…

Inside the well attended pub, it had been a bit of a struggle to get through the crowds of people, but at last Margaery found herself seated on a bench at the back of the room. With her foot propped up on a chair and while slowly regaining a normal body temperature, she couldn’t help the smile on her face as she watched Sansa over at the bar. 

Sansa’s sweeping hand gestures and her stoic, determined face as she described their situation to the bartender suggested that she was in full action mode. And, well, Margaery had never not enjoyed seeing Sansa in action mode. It reminded her of what had fascinated her so profoundly when she had first met her. The pretty, but rather quiet young nurse who went full head-bitch-in-charge when emergencies came in, effortlessly leading her team even through the most complicated cases.

“Okay.” Sansa came to the table with a first aid kit clamped under her arm, two mugs in her hands and three fingers hooked into the edge of a plastic bag filled with ice. “She was able to reach a taxi company that is running, but it will be at least two hours until they have an open slot for us.”

Margaery eyed the steaming cups, the smell of mulled wine distinct. “And you thought while we’re here we might as well have a drink?”

Opening the first aid kit, Sansa shrugged. “Something for your circulation.”

“You realize that alcohol serves as a vasodilator, right?”

Sansa sat down on a chair, lifted Margaery’s calf over her knee and turned her a pointed look. “Work with me here, Marg.”

Wincing when Sansa brought her increasingly bluish foot into a right-angle position, Margaery drew one cup towards her. “Yeah, okay. Maybe not your worst idea.”

In practiced motions Sansa unrolled the beige bandage around Margaery’s foot and ankle. The wobbly, unstable feeling disappeared with the first few circles.

“That stupid picture better turned out gorgeous to make all this worth it,” Sansa remarked soberly, as she proceeded to set a flawless spiral reverse technique into place.

Fishing her phone from her pocket, Margaery opened the last image she had taken. Gorgeous did not even begin to cover it. She studied it longer than one should with the picture of an ex-girlfriend, scarcely able to keep an adoring smile off her face, before at last pushing the phone across the table. “Judge for yourself.”

Sansa glanced at the screen briefly at first, then eyebrows shot up and her eyes remained on the image of herself. “Oh wow. Maybe this was worth the injury.” Her gaze flashed up to Margaery. “Sometimes I think you missed your calling as a photographer.”

“Or you yours as a model.”

It came off flirtier than Margaery had intended, but the gentle blush coming to Sansa’s cheeks superseded any awkwardness.

Bringing her attention back to her work at hand, Sansa fixed the bandage in place with two stripes of tape. “And who would patch you up then?” She concluded by running a finger along the tips of Margaery’s toes peeking out at the top, chuckled when Margaery squirmed at the tickling sensation. “That’s a yes on sensibility intact I’d say.”

“Thank you,” Margaery exhaled, the tender touch burning on her skin, even when Sansa had moved next to her on the bench.

“Thanks for not trying to treat yourself this time.”

Margaery lowered her eyes, the memory let warmth inch up her neck. “My faith in your abilities has increased,” she declared through batted lashes.

The memory was as fresh in her mind, as if it had just happened yesterday. A good two and a half years ago. She had been in a rush during a busy day in the ER and ran into an open cupboard door, leaving her with a small laceration just at her hair line.

Sansa, wanting to check up on her, had found her in a treatment room, giving herself stitches. She had gone off on her, pointing out that it was against any protocol to treat herself. Unfazed by her indignation, Margaery had been persistent not letting any of the junior doctors on duty butcher her face; but had ultimately allowed Sansa to assist her.

They had kissed for the first time after Sansa had put a dressing on her.

Sansa lifted her cup and waited for Margaery to clink hers against it. “Here’s to not having to test that trust on more invasive things.”

The wine pleasantly warmed her up at the first sip, and she leaned back, the remains of the excitement gradually falling off her.

…

It grew dark outside, and the bartender kept the lighting in the pub dim through it. A couple of light chains and candles on the tables dipped everything into a light that was as soft as everything else in Margaery’s body.

Earlier in the day the familiarity between them had carried an undeniable tension, a wistfulness, but with every minute they sat together that disappeared more and more. Soon all that was left in the dimly lit corner was comfort, and a grasp of deeply rooted trust.

Somewhere in the depths of her mind, the parts that were not enwrapped by Sansa’s presence and lulled in an increasing alcohol level, voices still cited to be prudent warned that this was a dangerous path to trod on. She soaked them in more wine until they silenced altogether.

The conversation between them flowed more lightly. Earlier they had done their best to act like strangers, like there was not this massive history between them. That disappeared somewhere between their second and third cup of mulled wine.

As that went along, the invisible borders they had respected so rigorously started to slowly disappear.

Eyes lingered in looking at each other somewhere over their first cup of wine.

Hands touched sometimes more, sometimes less coincidentally when they shared a large plate of nachos after their second round.

Every time Sansa returned with refilled cups, she sat just the tiniest bit closer.

After their third wine cups sat almost empty in front of them, Sansa’s head slumped to Margaery’s shoulder. “I think I might be a bit drunk.” She emphasized it by presenting a small gap between her thumb and pointer finger.

Margaery smiled and gave her a gentle nudge. “Ever the lightweight.”

The weight of Sansa against her disappeared, and she gave her a critical look. “As if you can still walk in a straight line.”

“Not a fair way to evaluate my sobriety right now, don’t you think?” Margaery shot back with a gesture towards her elevated foot. She paused before continuing. “One I will have to test though. I am due for a tour of the ladies’ room.”

Without further prompt, Sansa slipped off the bench and held out her hand, helping Margaery into a standing position. She set her hands on either side of her waist and seized her up. “Feeling okay?”

“So far so good.” Experimentally, Margaery lowered her injured left foot to the ground without putting any weight on it, then contemplated briefly if she should dare to try it; she balanced factual medical knowledge against her objectively feeling fine.

Sansa was quicker than her decision-making capability. She manoeuvred Margaery’s arm around her shoulder and slung her own around Margaery's midriff. Taken by surprise Margaery looked up at her and found her smiling softly. “Off we go.”

Together they made the short walk towards the bathroom in the back corridor of the pub. They had to wait for a moment as the single ladies’ room was still occupied, Margaery leaning with her back against the wall, Sansa propped against it sideways. The air was a bit fresher and the light brighter, letting Margaery truly feel the effect of all that wine they had consumed in the past hours. Luckily, not entirely in an unpleasant way. Margaery was always more on the happy tipsy side… and perhaps a tad more tactile than she was anyway.

With a smirk she touched her fingertips to Sansa’s bright red ear, just the hint of a brush. “Crab ears. So, you truly are drunk,” she said with a playful look.

The lazy tired way Sansa shrugged in leaning against the wall underlined her state almost comically. “Told you,” she drawled through a silly smile. “And how about you? Feeling fine?”

Margaery dropped her head back against the wall and rolled it to look at Sansa. “Relatively. But I also had most of the nachos, so, you know.”

“We should probably ask about that taxi again,” Sansa suggested. “Try to make our way back while I still have some body coordination.”

The twinge of disappointment was hard to ignore. She did not want to go back yet. For entirely different reasons than before.

This was _fun_ , so much more fun than she had in months.

“You know, I wouldn’t be opposed to one more round,” Margaery stated innocently, giving her best puppy dog eyes. “Only if you want of course.”

She knew she had Sansa when she pushed her lower lip forward, and Sansa smiled the smile she always smiled when unable to refuse her something.

“You are a bad influence.”

…

They lasted for two more rounds.

When they waited outside on the street for their taxi, Margaery had given up any pretext to lean onto Sansa for stability. Was not so much leaning, as holding on to her. Yearning for her warmth, the softness of her body, for her scent. She had slung an arm around her neck, her head sitting on her shoulder, while she absentmindedly played with the buttons of Sansa’s coat.

“I missed you as my personal human oven,” Margaery mumbled, increasing tiredness taking over.

Sansa’s hand smoothed along her side before fastening its hold. “You’re cold?”

“No,” Margaery gave back quietly, her face nuzzling into the material of Sansa’s coat. “Not in the slightest.”

They stayed closely cuddled together, even in the nearly overwhelming heat of the taxi. With sincere curiosity, Margaery noted the way their hands lay interlaced in Sansa’s lap. She had no reminiscence of how or when that had happened. Not that it mattered. With Christmas decorations passing them by, she gave the hand in her own a gentle squeeze and smiled when it was returned.

She woke from a light slumber when the taxi pulled to a stop in the parking lot of their hotel, and shivered heavily upon exiting the car. Noticing it, Sansa chuckled melodically and closed her arms around her in a quick but tight embrace.

“Almost there and then we can cuddle up in bed.”

“We?” Margaery offered an innocent smile.

The look that Sansa returned was a bit shyer, even when she quirked her eyebrows. “If that’s what it takes to keep you warm. Can’t risk hypothermia.”

Margaery’s head dropped forward and she rested her cheek on Sansa’s shoulder, encouraged by hands that drew over her back. “Last night was nice. To sleep in your arms.”

“It was,” Sansa agreed quietly, fingers skimming through Margaery’s curls. “I was worried you’d be upset at me for sneaking up on you like that.”

Margaery pulled back just enough to look her in the eye. “You sneaking up on me?”

Sansa looked so sincerely apologetic it was endearing. “I didn’t notice until I woke up… it was a force of habit, I guess? Sleeping next to you and not holding you, that was just…”

“Wrong,” Margaery finished for her. She ran her hands down Sansa’s arms. “But if it eases your mind… it was not you who did the sneaking. Not initially.” She peered up beneath lowered eyelids. “I hope that doesn’t leave you upset with me?”

Sansa brushed a couple of curls behind Margaery’s ear and shook her head.

And then she leaned in.

Just like that.

Their lips were cold pressing together, but the sense of familiarity was there, so intensely, so marvellously, that everything else that should have mattered blurred.

The cold enwrapped Margaery again when Sansa pulled away. She opened her eyes and could do nothing but smile, finding Sansa still right there, her face only at a few centimetres distance; not a mention of regret in her eyes, alone heartfelt yearning, more distinct than ever before.

When Sansa kissed her again, it was without reticence, languid and messy all remaining good reason vanished with it. Margaery let herself fall into it, opened her lips to the tongue that licked into her mouth and met it with wanton.

Sansa did not grant her a moment to come up for air. She followed her in split seconds that Margaery drew heavy breaths and brought their lips back together with more force, her mouth and tongue moving faster each time. 

Margaery’s head was swimming with desire. She felt increasingly weak in her knees under lips that kept assaulting hers. Before long her fingers curled around the lapel of Sansa’s coat, held on.

They panted heavily when they tore apart eventually, their lips still open, almost touching. Their foreheads and noses pressed together. Eyes opened slowly and met.

“I missed you so much,” Margaery confessed and clasped the cool fingers that drew over her heated cheek tightly against it, leaned into the touch.

She was mere seconds away from saying more than that. The words, the truth, set itself together in her clouded brain. She would just tell her. Everything. That she had not had a single good day since they had split up. That she wanted her back. That Canada, her dream, had not been worth it. That she was an idiot, thinking that any ambition was worth breaking Sansa’s heart over, both their hearts. She would tell her, and they would go from there.

And then Sansa drew back.

Decisively this time.

She set one palm firmly on Margaery’s chest, restraining her from following after her, and shook her head.

Her cheeks and lips were still burning, yet Margaery felt colder than she ever had in her life as she watched Sansa straighten her back, fingertips pressed to her lips.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, her eyes wild with emotion. “I shouldn’t have done that. I can’t—we can’t—”

Within seconds Margaery felt stone-cold-sober. “Right.” Just how harsh her voice sounded startled even herself. She had not aimed for that, or to say it out loud even, but bitterness, being resentful, was tons easier to control than letting Sansa see just how much this hurt.

She had no right to be upset; should have known better. What had she expected? In all their wine induced flirting, Sansa still had a… whatever she was to her.

“Marg, I am—”

Margaery quickly shook her head, a bitter smile gracing her lips. “No, no. I understand. Really. I just wish that you would have had that realisation about two minutes earlier.” Tearing her eyes away from Sansa’s apologetic face, she released the hold she still had on her. The humiliation coursing through her veins was enough to give standing on her injured foot another try. She was relieved when she found only mild pain still. “We should get inside.”

She shook off the hands that tried to wrap around her for support as she limped toward the entrance, but Sansa was relentless until she had an arm set around her waist.

“Please.” Blue eyes held the same pleading as her voice. “Let me help you.”

Sansa’s hold, that had provided such a sense of safety and belonging, made it hard to breathe now. Margaery endured it until they were in the lift, where she could grip onto the handrail for support and got as much distance between them as the square meter allowed.

The pleasant tipsiness from moments ago had perished, had not left her as sober as initially hoped, but shifted into an inability to gather her thoughts. It left her dizzy, and as she stared at the grey linoleum floor, she felt a growing knot in her throat.

How could she have been so stupid to surrender all precautions? Drink with Sansa, flirt with Sansa, kiss Sansa…

“I truly am sorry.” Naturally, Sansa used the slow ride to their floor for another attempt to justify what had just transpired, perhaps in the aim to also grasp it herself. “It’s not that I don’t—”

“But you have a girlfriend,” Margaery concluded for her, her eyes and tone sharp enough to have Sansa flinch.

The lift came to a jerking stop, and Margaery did not lose any time in pushing the doors open, despising Sansa once again coming to her aid was needed. That dependency on her help was almost worse than anything else. Almost.

Inside their room, Sansa led her to sit on her side of the bed and stood for a moment, watching as Margaery unbuttoned her coat, gnawing on her lower lip like she always did when she longed to say something.

Margaery did not want to hear it.

She took off her coat, reached for her pyjamas that housekeeping had folded up neatly on top of the pillow. Incited by resentment and alcohol she slipped out of her sweater right after. Sitting in her bra and jeans was enough to force Sansa to avert her eyes and scramble away at last.

Without consideration, not minding that Sansa was still very much in the room, Margaery slipped out of her bra as well and pulled her flannel top on. She did not bother with the bottoms once she had peeled herself out of her jeans, but went directly under the covers, wrapping the blanket around herself like a cocoon and rolling onto her side, as far away from Sansa as the queen-size bed allowed. 

Safely curled up, she could not hold the tears back a moment longer. Humiliation and rejection swallowing her whole. The first couple rolled onto the pillow when Sansa turned the ceiling lights off, and more followed when the mattress dipped under her weight.

Had the knowledge of spending the night with Sansa in the same bed upset her last night, now it left her on the verge of a panic attack. If she could not be close to her, she did not want to be near her.

Once more, Sansa could not bear the silence. “I feel like we should talk. Can we please talk?”

Margaery fought to keep her voice firm. “Go to sleep.”

The mattress shifted again. Was she moving closer? She wanted her to and feared it at the same time.

Her voice sounded closer. “It… I had such a good time with you today. I hate to end it like this.”

 _A good time._ Margaery would have laughed if she had not been as miserable. That was one way to put it. Want to have a good time, call Margaery Tyrell… She pressed her face further into the pillow.

“Just go to sleep, Sansa.” Despite her best efforts, there was a quiver to her voice. “Please.”

“You’re upset.”

Margaery’s chuckle sounded rusty. “ _Upset_. It upset me when you brought a date to my brother’s wedding. Now I am…” her voice broke, and she pinched her eyes shut, wishing she would just fall asleep in this second.

She did not know how to end that sentence. Her emotions were nothing but a single monumental mess. She was a mess. She felt furious, heartbroken, terrified, drunk, cold, vulnerable, miserable all at once, all to the limit of what she could take.

“What?” The bedsprings squeaked when Sansa stretched out next to her. A note later the soft weight of a hand appeared on her shoulder and Margaery recoiled further onto her side of the bed, but the touch did not disappear, only gained tightness. “Talk to me. Please.”

“There is nothing to talk about.” She could not hold back the sniffle that slipped into her words. Bloody wine. The one time in a decade that alcohol made her emotional, and it had to be with Sansa by her side. The gentle touch stroking up and down her arm did not make it much better.

“You can’t just expect me to sit here when you are crying.” She halted and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for earlier. For kissing you.”

“So you’ve said.”

Sansa moved yet another portion closer. “I’m not sorry about the kiss.” Again she wavered, and this time her voice returned lower. “It was a wonderful kiss.”

“It was.” When Margaery closed her eyes, she could still feel her lips tingling. She could still feel the spots on her waist where Sansa had pulled her close. It had been the perfect kiss. The perfect mix out of desire and affection, bringing along a wholesomeness that Sansa alone evoked in her.

When fingers started stroking through her hair, Margaery gave up trying to fight it. Even when she was the reason for her state of mind, it was good to have Sansa close. No one in the world soothed her like Sansa did.

Sansa remained silent for longer this time. So long that Margaery half hoped that she finally gave up her mission to talk things through.

To her own bewilderment, the longer the silence went on, the longer they laid there, the more Margaery felt the need to break through it. Not facing her, but still having the comfort of her touch, passed it easier.

Her voice was hoarse from crying, hardly above a whisper. “It was a mistake. Leaving you.”

Fingers that drew through her hair stilled. Fresh tears rose to Margaery’s eyes when the touch disappeared, but then the bed dipped one more time, and suddenly Sansa’s front was flush against her back, her face buried itself in chestnut curls.

“I shouldn’t have let you go,” Sansa declared quietly. 

Margaery squeezed her eyes shut, a few tears escaping still, and clutched onto the arm that draped around her with both her hands, pressed it securely against her chest. This closeness had her on the brink of losing her mind. It was more than she could govern, but she would break if Sansa let go now.

It became marginally better and simultaneously so, so much worse when lips planted a feathery kiss against the side of her neck. Her breathing hitched in a restrained sob, a second and a third kiss following. She lost count of how many more when Sansa’s lips opened and her face nuzzled against her skin, lost the fight to keep her breathing even. 

It was wrong in every conceivable way; it would end them in even greater chaos, doing nothing but making matters more complicated. Margaery should have protested, but she was drunk. Her resolve, if it had ever existed, was increasingly fragile, and, fuck, she had missed Sansa more than she had ever missed someone in her life.

If she had lost her for good, she wanted these last moments with her.

The hand that rested over her chest eventually freed itself from Margaery’s vice grip and made its course higher, moving beneath her buttoned up collar. Frantically searching for more skin contact, Sansa gripped at her shoulder and her neck, fingers grasped at every part they could reach. 

Margaery’s attempt to turn her head was blocked when the same nimble hand wrapped around her neck securely, holding her in place, while her other hand pushed her hair to the side and teeth nipped at her nape.

She understood without words. No looking at each other, no kissing, no talking. This delicate spell they were under would break if they did.

Surrendering any struggle, Margaery let herself fall into the firm hold Sansa had on her, let herself become absorbed in the sensation. It was not all that she longed for. Far from it. She longed - _craved_ \- to kiss Sansa, but she would take it. She would take all that Sansa was willing to give to her.

Her eyes closed again when Sansa’s hand left its hold on her neck and moved to nestle at the button of her pyjamas’ top until the two upper ones were open. The most pleasant tingling shivered through her at fingertips skimming over the skin of her cleavage, down her sternum.

Margaery cupped the hand that innocently grazed along the valley of her breasts, and with distinct impatience pulled it further beneath the fabric, not letting up until a palm lay warm on top of her breast. With a sigh she pressed further into the body behind her when Sansa started massaging her, lightly at first, then with increasing force.

There was a particular greediness to Sansa’s caresses that was unmatched. She always started slow and tender, shy nearly, but that never lasted very long before she tumbled into shameless desire. Hands groped at Margaery’s chest avidly, squeezed along her sides; nails scratched over her skin. It was like she wanted her whole, all of her, and could not decide which part of her she wanted most.

Lips attached to the juncture of her neck and sucked. Teeth pierced at her skin. Then a hot tongue soothed the same spot. Sansa did not let up until she had bestowed all skin within reach with the same treatment and then started once again, and Margaery abandoned what was left of her reluctance under Sansa’s hands and lips.

She needed her. She needed a fleeting moment that told her Sansa still craved her more than anyone else, that she was not alone in her longing.

Heavy breaths were the only sound between them when Sansa’s hand slipped under the waistband of her panties. Long fingers wasted no time in teasing their way between drenched folds, lingered over her clit for a few viciously precise circles, and then, without warning, without a moment of hesitance, fingers dipped inside of her at just the right angle.

Margaery’s sigh shifted into a subdued moan and her hand fastened securely around Sansa’s upper arm, feeling her muscles tighten under her hold, as she pumped in and out of her at an ever-increasing pace.

Sansa rested her chin over Margaery’s shoulder, their breathing came in laboured pants in sync with each other and the rhythm at which she worked two fingers into her.

There was no teasing, not even a considerable amount of tenderness, just desperate yearning and the need to be as close as possible; a distinct need to get there, to remember what it had been like between them. She went knuckle deep while a thumb pressed against her clit, neither granting Margaery time to dwell in the sensation or in the moment.

The fear of what would come after was already there when she felt her climax coming into reach. She tried to hold it off, did not want to face reality, but did not stand a chance in the way Sansa knew her body, knew just the right way to get her there.

When she tumbled over the edge, lost her struggle and let the sensation of her orgasm take her over, hot tears ascended in her eyes while she was still gasping for air. In her need to keep Sansa close, to ward off even an attempt of withdrawing, Margaery reached out blindly behind herself and slung an arm around Sansa’s back, silently pleading with her not to go away just yet.

She only relaxed a little when instead of moving away, Sansa pressed more solidly against her; one hand still cupping her core and her lips pressed against her shoulder.

Margaery lost track of how long they stayed like that. A deep tiredness settled within her, but she did not allow herself to give into it. If she fell asleep now, Sansa would be gone when she woke up. She just could not—she had thought that a last moment with her might be enough, but it wasn’t. It would never be enough. There was so much still open between them, so much left… _unsaid_.

“I love you,” Margaery broke through the silence.

Even if it did not make a difference, even if it was too late - it didn’t matter. She needed her to know this at least.

A lingering kiss to her pulse point remained the only sign that Sansa had heard her words and forced her to go on. 

“I was—leaving you, I never should have—it was a mistake. Nothing in the world will ever be worth losing you over.”

Anxiety coursed through her when Sansa’s hand pulled from between her legs, but only extended for a flash; it didn’t move further than her stomach, rested there and drew patterns around her belly button.

“You didn’t lose me,” were the first words Sansa uttered.

“Only I did.” Margaery’s speech was choked with tears. 

She had lost her. And now… fuck. She had not meant for any of this to happen.

Was that true, though? In those last few hours, she had very deliberately sought Sansa’s proximity. She had, in her wine induced haze, deliberately ignored that Sansa was not single? Perhaps hoping Sansa would forget too? And just now, had she not, in nothing but plain selfishness, encouraged Sansa in touching her rather than putting a stop to it?

Sansa’s silence did not bode well, but when she spoke her words took a turn that caught Margaery completely by surprise.

“You didn’t lose me,” she repeated one more time. “I am not— I’m not with anybody else.”

Sansa’s fingers drew over the skin of her abdomen as they had before. As if that statement did not hold the impact that it did, while Margaery's heart thumped in her chest.

It required a solid amount of courage to pull out of the embrace. Rolling onto her back, allowing Sansa to see her tear-streaked face as she wiped at it with her sleeve, she felt more vulnerable than she had all night.

Meeting Sansa’s eyes that took her in with soft tenderness, elicited a sense of hope. One she did not quite trust, one that she needed reaffirmed before she could fully allow it.

“What do you mean?”

Sansa lowered her gaze, a certain hesitance returned as she folded one arm beneath her head and took Margaery in with so, so much longing. The hand that was still resting on Margaery’s stomach withdrew, coiled up tightly to her front.

“What I said. I haven’t moved on. I’m not with Shae. She is a colleague. A friend.” Sansa released a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment, shaking her head. “I… I came to the wedding because I wanted to see you.” She chuckled without joy. “Everybody said that that was a bad idea. That it wouldn’t take more than an hour of us in the same room to end up… somewhat exactly where we are now. And I knew they were right. But that still didn’t change my conviction of wanting to see you… and so Shae offered to come. As my date.”

The impact of it all was crystal clear, and at the same time her brain refused to wholly acknowledge it. “But not really as your date?” Margaery asked lamely.

“More like a chaperone to make sure I… behaved.” This time Sansa’s soft smile reached her eyes for a second, thus turned thoughtful. “I never meant to hurt you. I thought I was protecting you as much as myself.”

“Protect me from what?”

Sansa set a hand against her cheek, smoothed her thumb over her cheekbone, over the remnants of smudged mascara. “This.” She said it as if it would explain everything, and it did to some extent.

They had had a magnetic force on each other from day one. And yes, had Sansa shown up at the reception by herself, Margaery very likely would have ended up in her proximity eventually.

“I miss you so much, it’s painful to exist sometimes,” Sansa went on. “Honestly, I couldn’t have moved on if I wanted to, because—” she caught herself and smiled sadly. “But all that changes nothing. We, our lives, are at different ends of the world.”

She looked crestfallen, and for once, for the first time in this hell of a year, Margaery had it in her hands to make it better.

“What if they weren’t?”

Sansa shook her head. “We have been through this so many times. I can’t go to Canada with you. Not in the foreseeable future. My family—”

“That’s not what I meant.”

An even more frantic shake of her head followed. “You know that I won’t, that I can’t, allow you to give it up. Not for me. It’s too much… it’s your dream, your future. You’ve spoken so passionately about your—”

“I hate it.” It felt so liberating to finally say these words out loud. “Every minute.”

It was not just an admittance to Sansa. It was an admittance to herself. No more sugar-coating, no more trying to see the positive sides in all of it or hoping that it would eventually become better.

Pure confusion stared back at her. “But this morning, when I asked you… and you, you said that—”

“I lied.” Margaery lowered her gaze. “I thought I’d lost you to someone else because of it… how could I have admitted that it was anything less than I wanted it to be.”

Sansa shook her head and drew her hand off of Margaery’s face. “Don’t do that,” she pleaded. “You have wanted this job longer than you have known me. Don’t say what you think I want to hear.”

“I’m not.” Margaery took a deep breath and forced herself to meet Sansa’s eyes sternly. “These past months, nothing has been what I thought it would be. Not the job, not the city… I barely know the city. I don’t have any friends—”

“So you had a rough start,” Sansa interrupted. “That’s what happens when you move to a new place by yourself. You get homesick. You start questioning things. It will pass.” 

She didn’t get it. Didn’t get the whole picture. But how could she? She had filled hours this morning gushing about how great Vancouver and working under Cersei Lannister was. 

“It’s more than that.” 

Everything within Margaery baulked against saying more. It came with a sense of embarrassment to admit it, even to Sansa. All her life she had been successful at everything she had put her mind to. That the greatest ambition throughout her professional life turned out to be a mistake was a sore confession to make, but one that was necessary to make Sansa understand.

“Nothing of what I told you this morning is true. I am not Cersei Lannister’s prime student. I’m not her student at all. She treats me like I’m dirt stuck to her shoe. She isn’t teaching me. I’ve been in the OR with her once in six months, and even then I was hardly more than her scrub nurse.” Margaery couldn’t help the few tears that escaped her, the emotional side of her drunken state catching up with her once more. “And despite that I am working sixteen hour days. For a while I thought it was her testing me, trying to see how much I wanted this and I was so determined to prove that I was worthy of it... Now I think she’s just a sadistic bitch.”

The sympathy that had slipped into Sansa’s face was hard to bear, made Margaery almost miss her sceptic expression. 

“I’m sorry to hear that, Marg.” Margaery loved her a bit more for choosing these words. This was who Sansa was, wanting only the best for those she cared for, no matter if it broke her heart. “As much as I hated you going, I truly hoped it would be everything you wished for.”

“I’m not.” Margaery could not keep a cautious smile at bay. It came from deep within, encompassed her like Sansa’s presence. “It could have been all I ever wanted, and it still would have been a mistake. Giving us up… I should have never done that.”

Now Sansa dared a first smile, but it still carried a measure of sorrow. “I didn’t give you much of a choice.”

Sansa had been most persistent on her to take this chance, yes, had not wanted to hold Margaery back, because she had feared that she would come to resent her for it one day, if she didn’t take a chance like this.

Nevertheless, in the end, the final decision had been up to Margaery. And she had made the wrong one. Even if Vancouver had been everything she had wanted it to be, it would have been the wrong one.

In that moment, looking into Sansa’s eyes, she knew what she had to do.

“What if I came back?” An almost giggly joy came over Margaery with her own words, one that ran so strong, she almost laughed out loud.

This was what she wanted. More than anything else. It felt like she could breathe for the first time in months.

Even when smiling, Sansa was more cautious in joining her in her enthusiasm. “Perhaps you should sleep on that.” She pushed a couple of curls behind Margaery’s ear. “You’re still— I mean, this might not be the best state of mind for life-altering decisions?”

She was scared, Margaery understood. She was apprehensive that with the alcohol still running in her system she was not thinking straight. And perhaps that was not unreasonable. 

Slowly, she nodded. “Fine. Let’s postpone the life-altering decisions to tomorrow.” 

For a few seconds Sansa looked at her with a sense of sadness. It was easy to guess the reason for that; the presumption that Margaery’s choice would not fall in her favour in the sober light of day. 

“I won’t change my mind,” Margaery assured her. “I want to come back.”

Sansa’s smile was small when she pressed a kiss to her forehead. With an arm around Margaery, she pulled her close and settled her head next to hers on the pillow, her lips right by her ear, tickling softly when she spoke. “Tell me again tomorrow.”

…

Margaery’s eyes felt impossibly heavy when she opened them, something that added to the mild headache she had brewing behind her temples. Before anything else, the memory of the vast amounts of mulled wine appeared in her mind and let her groan quietly. Her stomach felt the slightest bit queasy and her mouth unpleasantly dry.

“Good morning.” The words tiredly mumbled into her hair were accompanied by a hand stroking over her back.

Margaery smiled. More details of the previous day filled her mind and with them she nuzzled her face into soft warmth beneath her. “Good morning.”

It took her a moment to open her eyes entirely. The daylight was too bright, the embrace too comfortable to leave behind. Unlike the morning before, there was no longer any reason to.

Last night they had not bothered with any false pretence, with sticking to their sides of the bed; instead, they had curled up in each other’s arms, under a single blanket and had not moved for the rest of the night. Margaery was still in the same position she had fallen asleep in. Her head tucked under Sansa’s, one arm around her back, the other twisted into the material of her top, their naked legs entangled beneath the sheets.

“How are you feeling?” Sansa sounded a bit more awake, even when her voice was still hoarse.

“Okay,” Margaery gave back, her fingers playing with the fabric of Sansa’s shirt. She twisted her head upward and glanced at Sansa, finding her eyes open, more alert than she had supposed her to be. “You?”

“Nothing a large cup of coffee and a bottle of water won’t cure.” She managed a small smile. “And your ankle?”

Beneath the blanket Margaery dared a first careful up and downward movement of her foot, her toes brushing against Sansa’s leg. “Better I think.”

“Great.”

Fingertips grazed along Margaery’s spine and she snuggled back against Sansa, perfectly engulfed by her warmth and smell. “What time is it?”

“Past ten,” Sansa answered. “You slept in.”

“Have you been awake long?”

“Not long, no.”

Something in Sansa’s voice was off, and Margaery had a definite idea what had been going through her mind while laying awake.

“I haven’t changed my mind,” Margaery opened gently.

She drew a finger over the collarbone that was visible over the high collar of Sansa’s shirt and waited for a moment.

Last night, in their need to get all what was unclear between them out in the open, they had overthrown themselves in talking to each other. She wanted to take things slower now, emphasize that she was ready to have a real, sober conversation about it. Even when there was hardly anything left unsaid.

They had literally talked themselves to sleep last night. Sansa reluctantly admitting just how tough their break-up and the subsequent months had been on her; the whole truth about just how horrible Vancouver, her job, missing Sansa, her family, her friends streaming out of Margaery.

When there was no reaction from Sansa, she continued. “I don’t want to go back to Canada. And I won’t. At least not for more than clearing out my apartment.”

“Can you just do that? I mean…-“ Sansa took a deep breath and her hand held its movement, came to a rest just above the curve of Margaery’s hip “-you have a contract.”

It was her sense of pragmatism that had her ask this question, Margaery understood. More so knowing her. Knowing how much Margaery placed value on an immaculate work resume. Leaving, abandoning a position, _this_ position, would not read good in future applications. She was afraid she might still change her mind after all with that consideration.

“I have a two weeks’ notice. And I’m sure I will find a trusted doctor here willing to attest my being unfit for working with a sprained ankle.”

“And then what?” Sansa questioned soberly. 

Margaery smirked. “I have heard rumours about excellent surgeons within the greater London area. Tarth for example, or Seaworth. Might be worth looking into that. I know grandmother will love networking on my behalf.”

Sansa’s chest rose beneath her in a heavy breath. “Leaving at a slapping pace won’t exactly leave you with the good evaluation you need to get a position under any of them.”

Her reluctance to just accept Margaery’s decision as something positive was somewhat endearing, a little frustrating, and perhaps more amusing than it should have been.

“Why do I get the impression you are looking for reasons for me not to come back?” She kept her tone playful. 

“I’m not. Of course I’m not.” Sansa’s arms tightened around her to emphasize the statement. “I just want you to really think it through. Be smart about it.” 

“And what would that entail?”

Sansa contemplated for a couple of seconds. “You could do another month or two in Vancouver. Give your notice in person. Give them the chance to find a replacement for you.” 

Sansa’s consideration touched her. The implied proposition that she would wait. Sure, she made a point in terms of what would be the professional thing to do. Leave with dignity through the front door, instead of silently sneaking out the back, metaphorically speaking. 

Still Margaery shook her head as she smoothed her hand down Sansa’s side. “And why should I do that? For whom? No evaluation from Cersei Lannister will ever be favorable for future applications, no matter how I resign.”

Sansa’s fingers curled around Margaery’s shoulder, pulling her in, a little stronger than perfectly pleasant. “It will be a while until you get your feet back on the ground here.”

“But at least I will be back on the ground,” Margaery returned. She’d cut her roots six months ago, and had been up in the air ever since. 

“I need you to be sure that this is what you really want to do,” Sansa declared insistently. 

“I am sure,” she promised. 

She felt the shaky breath Sansa drew into her lungs. “And what about us?”

Margaery peeled herself away from the rich warmth that Sansa’s arms offered. She folded her hands over her shoulder and rested her chin on top, searching Sansa’s eyes. “I think that is what I am supposed to ask you.”

After all, she was the one who had left. No matter how amicable, and encouraged by Sansa, she had left her entire life here. She could not just expect for Sansa to welcome her back with open arms; only hope for it.

“I want to be with you,” Margaery resolved into the silence. “Now. Tomorrow. Next year.” At last a smile fought its way onto Sansa’s face and established her next words needless. “If you still want me.”

“Of course I do.” A downright silly-happy smile errupted on Sansa’s face as she nodded. “Now, tomorrow, forever.”

“Forever, huh?” Margaery grinned.

Sansa hummed and brushed a strand of hair out of Margaery’s face, all hesitance gone. “Take that as your warning. If you take me back, you’re not getting rid of me again.”

“You say that like it’s an obstacle.”

When their lips met, Margaery found that her head was not completely in it.

A notion had crept up on her, the one of a shop window, a couple of streets away from her old apartment in London. She had walked by it many times on her way to work and about a year ago had first noticed a ring on display; a round cut diamond enclosed in a silver band.

Smiling into the kiss, she sunk into it fully when Sansa’s arms wrapped around her neck.

After all, now she would need to get Sansa a Christmas present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First post of this year! Yay! Is it too late to wish a happy new year ten days in?   
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this story! I for sure had a lot of fun bringing the angst up to its maximum before giving you, your promised happy ending.   
> Would looove to hear what you think!   
> Thanks to everyone for reading, subscribing, leaving comments and kudos!

**Author's Note:**

> Next time around: Half-truths over breakfast, an injury, a little too much mulled wine, and loads of angst. (And happy ending!!!)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this first part! As always I would love to hear what you think!
> 
> Should I not get around to update before: The happiest of holidays to all of you! And a big thanks for all of you lovely people for sticking with me throughout this year!


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